Straw Dog
by the-circus-awaits
Summary: Post-S5 AU (some post-S5 stuff has happened) where Dean had a son that he didn't know about for ten years. Now that son is a 'punk' 17 year old who is trying to figure out life while dealing with his overprotective dad, angels, demons, boys, hiding said boys from his father,and an Angel vs. Demon war starting over his very existence.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

The rain beat down in violent drops that soaked Vis Vires D. Pratt's dirty-blond hair and left droplets on his glasses. His phone was vibrating in the pocket of his coat, but he ignored it and continued walking down the sidewalk, his face downcast as he tried to avoid meeting any eye contact.

At least to the residents of his small town, Vis was nearly as strange as his name. His hair was streaked with red dye, and he had an affinity for black clothes, ripped jeans, eyeliner, piercings and nail polish. Not only was he determined to wear whatever he wanted, but it made people stay away from him if he let them label him a freak, so he did.

On this particular day he had walked from his house to the library, his headphones on and his mp3 player blasting music through them to drown the sound of rain and anybody walking past them. His phone started vibrating again, but he once again ignored it and pushed open the heavy double-doors. He lowered his headphones to rest around his neck as he walked inside. His music was still loud enough that he could hear Katy Perry's voice belting out the words to _Last Friday Night_.

"Good morning, Vis," Lisa, an elderly woman who was frequently the only librarian present, said, not looking up from the newspaper she was reading. "Turn the music off."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, unplugging his headphones with a swift swipe to silence the music.

"Your dad still away?" It was routine for Vis to frequent the library, but only when his father wasn't home.

"Mhm." He strolled past Lisa's desk and straight into a dimly lit corner he had practically claimed as his own. There was a dying plant, a table, two chairs and a flickering light hanging from the ceiling. The library very rarely had anyone else in it for more than a moment or two except for the weeks leading up to exams, so he could usually be alone in his corner with a stack of books and his music and he could relax away from his father's home of devil's traps and salt lines and iron bullets.

xXx

"Where the-"

"Hello, Dad." Vis shut the apartment door behind him, not looking at the cross man glaring at him from the kitchen doorway.

"I came home and you were gone!"

Vis rolled his eyes and walked to the closet, taking off his coat and folding it onto a hanger. "Funny, I was here two days ago—"

"Vis—"

"—you know, when _you_ were supposed to be here—"

"Vis Vires Dean Winchester—"

Vis slammed the closet door and turned to meet his father's green eyes. He had been growing recently, and was finally taller than his father by a couple inches. "—and you weren't. And my name isn't Winchester. Screw off."

"Dean." Vis' uncle appeared behind Dean and put his hand on the shorter man's shoulder, his voice caring a warning. Dean shrugged him off and shook his head, walking back to the kitchen.

"You could've at least kept the salt lines," he said quietly as he walked out.

There was a moment's silence, before Vis asked, "Why's he so mad?"

"You were gone," Sam replied, looking down at his nephew.

"I was fine, I went to the library." Vis played with the strap of his messenger bag which hung across his body. He saw Dean and Sam's coats thrown over the couch and bit his lip as he restrained himself from hurrying to pick them up and hang them in the closet. He wasn't looking at his uncle, refusing to make eye contact.

"You know how he gets about you, Vis," Sam replied. "He worries."

"Just because Mom—"

"Vis, don't. You know that's not it. You could've answered your phone, though."

Vis sighed. "I was mad."

"You could've answered your phone. You have it for a reason."

"Yesterday was my birthday, and I didn't have a phone call to answer then."

Sam let out a small noise that Vis guessed was realization. Not only had they not bothered to come home, or call, but they had actually _forgotten_. Sure, they hadn't been there for over half of Vis' life, but they could at least remember his birthday.

"Vis…" Sam started, but the young man had decided to pick up the coats that were strewn on the couch. He walked away from Sam to pick them up and stared determinedly at the closet door as he crossed the room once more to hang them up. "Vis, don't do this."

And this was a normal thing. When the topic got into anywhere near serious waters, Vis would walk away and start distracting himself with a simple task of some kind.

"Vis. Vis Vires." Sam's voice was tinged with worry as Vis shut the closet door and turned back to the living room to where Sam and Dean's duffel bags littered the floor. He stepped into Vis' path to block him, putting his hands on his nephew's shoulders. "Vis, look at me. I'm _so_ sorry."

Vis looked up at his uncle, mustering as close to a 'devil-don't-care' look as he could. "I don't care. It's fine. Don't worry about it." Sam released the younger man and watched as he walked into the kitchen.

"I'm sorry," Vis said as he entered. Dean was sitting at the table, sipping a beer and reading one of the newspapers that Vis had collected on the kitchen table for him while he was away on a hunt the past week or so. "I went to the library. You were gone. I'm not a kid! I had my gun, and my holy water. I was careful."

"You're fine, Vis. I was supposed to be back yesterday," Dean replied, though his voice gave off the feeling that it was not fine, "but you could've answered your damn phone."

"I was in the library—"

"I got that."

"I couldn't answer my—"

"No. No, it's fine. You're _not a kid_, remember?"

Vis groaned. "Dad, come on! I can't stay in the house all the time." He sat down across from his father, biting his lip as he met the older man's eyes. "I wasn't in any danger."

"But you don't know that, Vis," said Dean. "The world is a dangerous place, you know that. When I was your age I wish I had the privilege of sitting in my home all day not having to worry about my life."

"But that's not what you get in life, Dad. Life isn't fun without some risks."

Dean scoffed. "Risks are trying to balance a stack of plates, or trying to walk on the top of a fence, or asking out a girl who's way out of your league. If you want a risk, why don't you go ask out a girl?"

"Because I don't want to go ask out a girl," Vis said quietly, "I _want_ to be able to walk down the street without you getting worried about me." Sam poked his head into the room to see how the discussion was going, and Vis took the opportunity to point to him and say, "Sam understands that you're worrying too much. Don't you, Sam?"

Sam looked slightly flustered. "Well, I mean. Dean, he's not a kid—"

"See!" Vis defended, standing up again and looking down at his father. "I just went to the library. You're freaking out for no reason! Over nothing!"

Dean stood up and glowered at his son. "Sit down." His rough voice gave off the command and Vis immediately took his seat again. "It's not about you being a kid, Vis. Listen to yourself talk, you think you could protect yourself in a fight? If a vampire walked through our front door would you be able to defend yourself? It's not about you not going out and having fun. Hell, when I was your age I was going out with a girl every chance I got and I didn't even have a place to call home. Why do we have to go over this every time I come home? You might think you're ready for whatever comes your way, but you're not. So next time I'm calling you, you answer the damn phone. Understood?"

"Yes, sir." Dean took his seat once more and resumed reading the newspaper. "Is that all, sir?" Dean nodded, and Vis stood up and left the room, Sam behind him.

"He does this because he loves you," Sam called matter-of-factly as Vis' bedroom door swung shut at the end of the hallway.

xXx

Vis was woken up at three o'clock in the morning with a splitting headache. He stumbled out of bed and into the hallway without turning on any lights, making his way towards the kitchen to get some pain relievers, but he saw the lights on and stopped just outside the door, listening to the voices inside the room.

"Dean, do you ever think you're too hard on him?" Sam was asking. Vis could hear a glass bottle being sat down on the table.

"He needs to understand why I worry so much about him, Sammy."

"He knows you're doing it because you care, Dean, but you can't just keep him safe forever. He wants to do what we do, you know he does. He's only resenting that he can't."

A short silence, a long exhale, and then the sound of a bottle being placed on the table again. "He doesn't want to do what we do, Sam. He reads too many novels. Tell me you don't look at him and still see that scared kid we picked up seven years ago."

"I do, but that's not who he is, Dean."

"I just don't want to do to him what Dad did to us, y'know? I don't want to hurt him the way Dad did us."

"You're not going to." Sam's voice seemed concerned for his older brother. Vis could imagine the look on Sam's face and he continued. "Dean, you're not Dad. You're a better man than Dad ever was."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Vis got uncomfortable about a week after Dean and Sam got home. They didn't usually go this long without beginning discussions about another hunt. Something was off, and Vis wanted to know what it was.

"When are you guys leaving again?" he asked carefully one day as they were sitting at a small diner in town for dinner. The place was empty except for them and an old man drinking coffee at the counter, and the diner's college-aged waiter was watching Vis, making his stomach get butterflies every time he looked up, but he did his best to focus on his family instead.

"We're not sure yet," Dean replied. "We've been thinking and, we're getting older now. Maybe we'll run more of information."

"Information?"

"Yeah," Sam said, "our Uncle Bobby used to run a decent network of making connections, being the guy you send people to when you're pretending to be FBI, helping research."

"You guys aren't _that_ old," Vis said, surprised by what Sam was saying. "I thought you liked hunting." He glanced up as the waiter walked passed their table, blushing furiously as the young man winked at him.

"We do – are you okay?"

Vis looked at his father and nodded. "Yeah, yeah. I'm... I'm fine. Absolutely fine." He took a drink of his glass of water before continuing, "So you're just. Just going to stay home all the time? But how are you gonna get money and—"

"We run a _credit card scam_," Dean whispered, "we don't need to worry about money. And even then, I could work at the garage downtown or something, and you're going to go to college and—" The look on Vis' face made Dean stop. "Why do you look like you want to stab yourself in the eye?"

"I've been thinking," Vis tried to pick his words carefully, "and I'm not so sure about going to college anymore, Dad."

Dean raised his eyebrows and gave Sam a sideways look. "Why not?" He didn't care, he knew that Vis would find something to do in life regardless of whether he went to college or not, but he had been hearing about college plans for the last four years, and never once had not going come up.

"Well, it's just, somebody has to keep up with the whole Winchester name, right? And unless you guys have more kids I don't know about—"

"You want to be a hunter?" Sam asked.

Vis casually put a French fry into his mouth, leaning his elbow on the table. He glanced up and caught the eye of the waiter again. He cursed in his head as he looked away to answer Sam, "Well, yeah. I want to change the world, that's what you guys do. Saving people, hunting things, the family business. It's been in your family for, like, generations, right?"

"That's true," Dean replied. "Look, you can do whatever you want to do with your life, but hunting is—"

"—is dangerous. I know. Dad, I _know_. I saw the thing that got Mom. I've bandaged you up, and I've seen your friends who have stumbled in at one a.m. covered in blood and bruises. I want you to teach me how to be a good hunter like you, how to save people's lives. If I could save just one person's life, it would be worth even losing my own."

Dean leaned back in the diner booth, looking at Vis with what Vis thought was a little bit of admiration. Vis looked up and caught the waiter's eyes again. The waiter ran a hand through his dark hair and flashed him a smile, gesturing for him to come over. Vis swallowed and looked down at the table, biting his lip.

"What do you keep looking at?" Sam looked behind him and Dean, searching for whatever was catching Vis' attention.

"Nothing! I wasn't looking at anything," Vis promised. The waiter tapped his watch and held up seven fingers. He got off at seven. Vis glanced at Sam's watch. It was six fifty-three. "You guys should go home. I'm going to walk across the street to the book store. I'll be home by eight, yeah?"

Dean sighed. "Alright." It was obviously hard for him to say it, but they had agreed to Vis having a little bit more freedom in exchange for him promising that he would answer his phone no matter how mad he was. Sam paid for their meal and then the three walked outside. Vis crossed the street and pretended to be heading for the book store until Dean and Sam were out of sight, before he returned to the diner.

xXx

By seven-ten, Vis was sitting on the counter of the diner's locked bathroom, his legs wrapped around the college boy's torso and their lips pressed firmly together. He could feel the older boy's fingers digging into his thighs as his own hands were placed on the back of the boy's neck.

"Vis," the older boy said softly as they surfaced for air. His name was Dustin, and he had been working at the diner for a year. He refused to call himself Vis' boyfriend because Vis was 'too young' for him, but still Vis found himself in the diner's bathroom at least once a week. "Vis. Jesus Christ."

Vis smiled at him. "What?"

"You're so hot," Dustin whispered. He moved to suck on Vis' neck. "Seventeen looks so good on you."

"I'll bet eighteen will look even better to you." Vis said it with a slight venom. Dustin just liked the making out, he just wanted sex, but Vis wanted him to look at him like a person instead of a toy. Dustin knew that Vis, even though he showed up to every single chance of meeting up they had, was unhappy, so he silenced him with another rough kiss.

He wrapped his arms around Vis' middle and pulled him to his feet, before slamming him against the wall and grinding against him. Vis let the older boy do whatever he wanted to him, it was easier than protesting and he liked Dustin far too much to protest. That's how, forty minutes later, he found himself scrambling around a public bathroom in an attempt to get all of his clothes back on his body and fix his hair as the older boy continually hugged him from behind and tried to convince him to go to his apartment for 'round two' and something about what a great guy he was, if only he was older, which he scoffed at. He always felt bad after he spent time with Dustin, but he couldn't find it in him to kick the habit.

It was also how, at eight-fifteen, he finally walked into his house to find his father and uncle sitting at the kitchen table with a dark-haired man in a trench coat.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

"Dad?" Vis asked awkwardly. He was still disheveled from the rushed bathroom sex, and finding a stranger sitting down to beers with his dad was taking a moment to process in his mind.

"Is this—" the stranger started, but Dean cut him off.

"Castiel, this is Vis. Vis, this is Castiel. He's an old friend."

Vis stepped forward and held out his hand to shake Castiel's. The man took his for only a second, before turning away with a slightly bothered look on his face. "Uhm… I'm sorry I'm late. I tried to get home on time…"

Dean looked confused, like he didn't even realize that Vis had gotten home later than he promised he would, but he just nodded. "It's okay, Vis. We were just discussing some stuff. You didn't sleep well last night, did you? Why don't you go get some rest?"

Vis hadn't slept well in a couple of weeks, between headaches and nightmares, so he shrugged. "Yeah. Uh. It was nice to meet you, mister…?"

"My name is Castiel," the man said bluntly. Vis nodded and left the room, heading back to his bedroom. Sam followed him out, leaving Castiel and Dean at the table.

"Cas, you could've been kinder to him. He's a sensitive kid, he assumes that anyone who isn't as friendly as a Care Bear hates him."

Castiel looked at Dean carefully. "There's a storm coming, Dean, and you have to be ready. And so does he."

xXx

Vis was even more put-off the next morning, when he found Castiel sitting at the kitchen table for breakfast. He gave Dean a questioning look, but Dean didn't seem to catch it. There was an odd tension in the room, and Vis wasn't much of a morning person, especially when his head was hurting too bad to ignore the awkwardness.

"You two look like you used to be a thing or something," he said tiredly and half-joking, after watching Castiel and Dean exchanging glances every few seconds as he filled his cereal bowl. Dean nearly choked on the bacon he was eating. "What?" Vis asked. "Did you used to be a thing...?"

"No!" Dean half-yelled, his voice sounding even rougher than usual.

"Well, you look like it." Vis half-grinned as he put a spoonful of cereal into his mouth. Dean glowered at him, while Sam looked amused and Castiel utterly lost. "How do you know each other anyway?"

Dean kept a lot of old stories secret. Vis knew some of the stories, but most of them he was only told on a need-to-know basis. He had once been caught with a copy of the _Supernatural_ novel, and promptly had it confiscated.

"Castiel is an old friend. He helped stop the apocalypse a time or two," Dean replied.

"So you're a hunter?" Vis asked Castiel, joining the adults around the table.

"No. I am an Angel of the Lord."

Vis looked over at Sam, a 'he's kidding, right?' look on his face as he chewed a spoonful of cereal. Sure, he'd heard a little bit about angels, but this scruffy guy in a tie and a worn-thin trench coat surely couldn't be an _angel_. Sam just nodded and looked between Castiel and Dean. Dean was looking at Castiel, almost as though Castiel had done something he wasn't supposed to do.

"You don't look like an angel," Vis said. "Aren't angels supposed to be like... blonde, and muscular, and have wings or something?"

Castiel gave him a slightly put-off look. "This body is simply my vessel. Seeing my true form would kill you."

"For real?" Vis grinned. "Like, straight-up, you come out of your meat suit and boom! Everyone in the room is dead?"

"Well, yes, I suppose..."

"THAT IS SO COOL!"

"Vis." Dean gave him a slight 'chill-out' look, and Vis sunk back in his chair slightly.

"What? It's cool. Even demons just come out in a cloud of lame smoke."

Dean shook his head, moving around a bit in the kitchen as though just to have something to do. Castiel was staring at Vis in what Vis took to be a curious manner, and when he looked to his uncle Vis found a similar expression.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing," Sam said, suddenly taking interest in the tabletop.

"Dean," Castiel said, looking away to where the other man was still moving around the kitchen. Dean turned towards them and leaned against the counter with a small, nearly inaudible sigh. "Perhaps you should tell him?"

"Tell me what?" Vis knew his voice was whiny, but he was beginning to get annoyed with being the only person not in the loop.

"Uhm," Dean looked at Sam, as though looking for a final way out of whatever he was going to say, "we were just discussing some things last night, and we, well, that is to say, well. Look—"

"We need to leave. And soon."

Dean let out a breath as Sam finished for him. He wasn't usually at a loss for words, but he already knew that Vis wasn't going to have a good reaction, and he didn't want to be on the receiving end of his son's anger.

"Leaving? What, you're going on a hunt?" Vis was used to his father and uncle leaving, even if they had said they were done. He didn't expect them to actually stick around, but he was confused by the air of mystery they had caused.

"No. Not a hunt. And not just us, you, too," Dean replied. Vis' face went blank for a moment, before he bit his lip and spoke.

"Why?"

"Because if you stay here you'll be dead by the end of the week," Castiel's voice was cold, which caused Dean to shift uncomfortably. The angel seemed to have changed a lot since they had last met.

"Dead?" Vis looked at Sam. Sam was always the level-headed one, the one to make things seem less dangerous, the one to make things seem normal. "I thought we were safe here?" Sam didn't break his glance from the tabletop. "What do you mean we'll be dead if we stay here?"

"Things change, Vis," Dean said carefully, "and I'm sorry. You're not safe here, and it's my job to protect you."

"_What are you protecting me from_?" Vis was standing now, biting his lip harder and harder as the conversation progressed.

Dean looked at Castiel and Sam, before returning his eyes to his son. "We don't know yet."

xXx

Vis hadn't been on loads of hunts, hadn't travelled a lot, had barely strayed from home his entire life, but he had packed and unpacked bags a thousand times.

Two pairs of jeans, two shirts, a jacket, his phone charger, his wallet, a knife, a picture of his mother, his mp3 player, and his sketchbook and pencils. That and the clothes on his back. He went grudgingly, but he went.

His father put their bags in the trunk of the old impala the morning after Vis was told they were leaving. The car was old, but in a sickeningly perfect condition. The cassette collection made Vis want to bash in his skull. The army man was still stuck in the door.

"Dad, where are we going?" Vis asked, before he got in. "How far? How long? If you won't tell me what we're running from you can at least give me that."

He was being hunted, and he knew it. He wasn't dumb, he could tell from the whispers and the looks. It wasn't Dean or Sam in danger. It was him, the one who had never set foot into another creature's territory.

"I don't know," Dean replied. "Get in."

Vis could picture how Dustin would react if he just disappeared. It wouldn't be good, especially not if Vis ever came back. He felt a shiver down his spine at the thought of what Dustin would do if he disappeared for months. "I need to tell someone goodbye," Vis said as he took a step away from the vehicle. "I just need a half hour. I'll be right back."

"Vis, we don't have time for—"

"Dad, it's important."

Sam had come down from the apartment and was checking to make sure they had everything they needed. He gave Vis a suspicious look, but told Dean to let him go.

"Half an hour. And then I'm coming to find you."

"Yes, sir." Vis walked off down the sidewalk, feeling like there were weights in his feet. He didn't want to be the one to give Dustin bad news, let alone tell him he wasn't going to have whatever he wanted whenever he wanted it.

He entered the diner and was thankful that the only people inside was a group of out-of-towners who were passing through. He walked carefully up to the counter, receiving a charming smile but knowing that behind it would be anger.

"We need to talk," he whispered to the older boy, grabbing his wrist and pulling him around the counter and into the back. They went through the back door and into the alley, before Vis released the other boy's wrist and turned around, his hands laying on Dustin's chest as he looked straight ahead to avoid eye contact. "I'm l-leaving town. My dad and my uncle and I can't… what are you doing?"

Dustin's hands were holding onto his wrists painfully tight. He tried to pull them away but couldn't budge the older boy's grip. "You're not going anywhere." Vis looked up to find himself face to face with pure black eyes and a downright evil grin. His breath caught, and he found himself unable to scream. His mind was racing to the knife in his jacket pocket – _had he put it in his jacket pocket?!_ He cursed in his brain as he tried desperately to pull away, but he found himself slammed into a wall and felt warm blood trickle down the back of his neck and pain shoot through his shoulder as he whimpered. Next thing he knew, he was on the ground, with Dustin's foot on his chest to hold him down.

"Vis Vires Dean Pratt Winchester," the voice was Dustin's but it wasn't. Vis had definitely heard Dustin sounding angry and violent, but this was something else, "we've been looking for you, you know. I'm very happy to be the one to find you. Comply and it'll hurt less." Vis was trying not to shake, not to show weakness, to make a noise or a comeback or anything, but he found himself motionless on the ground, barely able to form a breath.

"Dustin?" he finally managed to squeak out.

"Sorry, Dustin's checked out. But he left behind some great memories. You really were just his little whore, weren't you? I may not be allowed to kill you, but I must say that Dusty darling left some wonderful memories that have given me a desire to see how much fun I could really have with you." Vis squeaked and managed to find the strength in himself to grab Dustin's leg and twist it off of himself, trying to get up and get away, his hand flying to his pocket in hopes his knife was there. _How could he forget his knife? His one protection?_

A hand grabbed him and slammed him into the wall again. "You little sl—" The sound of flesh hitting flesh sounded loudly in front of Vis as Dustin was knocked off of him. He sunk to the ground as Sam stabbed a knife violently into Dustin's chest, a glowing light illuminating vaguely. His vision was black. Suddenly Dean was kneeling in front of him, his eyes full of worry as he put a hand on the side of Vis' neck.

"Vis? Vis, are you okay? Vis, answer me!" But Vis was staring at the bloody body that Sam was pulling a knife out of. Dean grabbed his shoulders and gave him a shake before repeating, "_Vis?_ CAN YOU HEAR ME? ANSWER ME."

"I-I..." But whether from hitting his head or mere shock, his vision was swimming and he couldn't seem to form words.

"We need to go," Sam said, "before someone sees this. Before more come."

"Vis, can you walk?" Dean asked.

"I-I... I don't..." Dean stood up, pulling his son with him. Vis nearly fell over, but Dean grabbed him and half-carried him as he immediately started walking, Vis' shoulder felt like it was on fire and he couldn't seem to move his arm from its limp place at his side, but he didn't say a word as he was dragged out of the alley, Sam walking behind them with a firm grip on his knife. As they made it out of the alley, Vis began to regain his balance on his feet. They made it to the Impala and Dean shoved him into the back seat as Sam and himself took the front.

"Dad... Dad what was that? That was a _demon_?" Vis could feel himself beginning to freak out, but he didn't have anything to keep his hands busy. His bag was in the back of the van. His phone was cracked from hitting the pavement. His chest felt tight. "Dad that was... you killed him?"

"Yeah, kind of." Dean was driving faster than he should've, just aiming to get out of town.

"He was going to hurt you, Vis," Sam said carefully, "maybe kill you, even."

"He was... you killed him."

Sam looked back at Vis uncomfortably. "You knew him? The kid who was possessed."

Vis hadn't realized it, but he was crying. He couldn't quite figure out why. He wouldn't miss Dustin, really, but he was _dead_. He was a person and he had been taken over and killed and he couldn't help it, and even if maybe he deserved it sometimes, and maybe if Vis had wished him dead on one of the bad days before. He was _dead_. He found himself nodding at Sam's question, trying to figure out the strange combination of horror and numbness that filled his body.

"I'm sorry, Vis," Sam said. Dean kept his jaw set as he kept driving as fast as he could.

The silence and sense of anxiety filled the vehicle. "Dad," he said quietly, panting through the pain in his shoulder, "he said he wasn't allowed to kill me." He left out what the demon was planning to do instead of murder. "Why not? Who isn't allowing them to kill me?"

Dean looked at his son in the rearview mirror. They had the same eyes, some would say, but Vis' held much more innocence and youth than his father's, and Dean could feel his own heart sink when he realized that was being stripped away, slowly. "I wasn't lying when I said we don't know, Vis."

"Where's Castiel?"

"We'll meet up with him soon. How hurt are you?"

Vis knew injuries. He patched up his father and uncle all the time. He closed his eyes and tried to focus, but his mind was still going in and out. "I can't move my arm. Shoulder dislocation? Possible concussion. Abrasion on back of head – oh no! Dad, I got blood on the headrest!"

"Oh my God. Vis, blood on the headrest isn't important right now! How long can you make it before we stop?" Vis was, admittedly, surprised that anything was more important than the Impala's headrest.

They were out of town, but the pain in his shoulder was already overwhelming. He felt nauseous. "Not long."

"Okay. Okay, we're going to just get away. Twenty minutes tops, okay? Hang in there."


End file.
